


Of Roses, Rivers, and Tea

by sahiya



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Conversations, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-19
Updated: 2011-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-27 13:34:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose Tyler was prepared for just about anything - but she never expected to find herself in River Song's garden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Roses, Rivers, and Tea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Indy1776](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Indy1776).



> Happy Holidays, Indy1776!

Rose had prepared herself to face just about anything when she made her final jump with the dimension canon. She'd locked it on to what she was pretty sure was the Doctor's biosignature, but beyond that, she had no idea where it would take her. She hoped it would put her in the console room of the TARDIS, but she thought the odds of that were fairly low. Knowing the Doctor, it was more likely she’d land in the middle of a revolution and have to turn right around and save him from imminent execution.

Where she did not expect was to land in a garden. A small, well-kept garden with a vegetable patch and bright, fragrant blooms that didn't smell like any flower Rose knew of on Earth. Stranger yet was the cottage the garden belonged to: vaguely Victorian in style, small but well-maintained, almost . . . cute. Rose couldn't imagine the Doctor ever setting foot in a place like this, not of his own volition.

Rose might've stood there for hours, staring dumbfounded at the little house, but after only a minute or two the door opened and a woman stepped out. She looked older than Rose did, and she had wild, curly blonde hair that was pulled back rather half-heartedly into a pony tail. Rose had never seen her before in her life, but there was something familiar about her all the same. She blinked, wondering if it was possible for Time Lords to become Time Ladies. "Doctor?" she asked, hesitantly.

The woman laughed. "Of a sort, but not the kind you're looking for, I think." She came down the steps, hand held out for Rose to shake. "Dr. River Song."

"Rose Tyler," Rose said, and the woman went very still.

"Rose Tyler," she said, in a hushed voice. "As I live and breathe. Is it really you? Where are you from?"

"The other universe," Rose said. "I . . ." She paused, not sure what to say to this strange woman who was looking at her almost reverently. "I wanted to come home," she finally said.

Dr. Song frowned. "How long has it been for you?"

Rose smiled wryly. "Longer than you'd believe."

"Try me."

"Six hundred years," Rose said. "Give or take."

"I see," Dr. Song said. "Come inside. I'll ring the Doctor. He'll be here as soon as he can, I'm sure, and in the meantime I can make you a cup of tea."

"Thank you," Rose said, following her into the house. A cup of tea sounded better than anything in ten worlds, just then.

Inside, the house was nothing like what she had expected. From the outside, she'd expected something quaint, almost kitschy, but the furniture was all of beautiful classic designs, mostly hardwood. None of it matched, per se, but all of it fit together perfectly. And the surfaces were covered in strange artifacts, some of Earthly origins but many of them clearly not. The overall effect was slightly cluttered, highly eclectic elegance.

From the next room, Rose could hear River on the phone. "Doctor, it's River. I really wish you'd answer your phone. You need to come as soon as you can." She gave a set of space-time coordinates, from which Rose gleaned that she'd landed in the 51st century. "Hurry up, there's someone here you'll want to see." There was a brief silence and then River appeared in the doorway. "Rose-hip or chamomile? Or would you prefer something caffeinated?"

"Whatever you're having is fine, thanks," Rose said. River shrugged and ducked back into the kitchen. Rose followed. "I'm sorry for landing in your garden, I'm not sure how I got here. I thought I had the dimension canon locked on to the Doctor's biosignature, but I guess I must have been mistaken."

Dr. Song glanced up from pouring boiling water into a teapot. "Two hearts and an excess of artron energy?"

"More or less."

"Ah, that would be how."

Rose blinked. Then she blinked again. "But that would make you . . . that isn't possible. Is it?"

Dr. Song shrugged. "I'm not Gallifreyan born and raised, if that's what you're asking. My parents are human, but I was conceived in the TARDIS. I'm human-plus, shall we say."

"I . . . see."

"But it seems you are as well," Dr. Song went on, carrying the tea pot to the table. "I always wondered, after the Doctor told me the story. The TARDIS tends to change anything she touches, and she touched you deeply."

Rose didn't know what to say to that. She accepted the cup of steaming hot chamomile River handed her and added a little honey from a pot. "I didn't know for a long time," she offered at last. "Thought I was just aging well. And then . . ." She hesitated, trying to find the words to describe how it had felt, the slow, terrible realization as she lost her loved ones one by one. But the words didn't exist; they never had. "I'd rather not talk about it," she said at last, flatly.

Dr. Song only nodded. "I'm sure he'll be here soon," she said. "Or, well, soon-ish. You know his driving."

Rose smiled into her teacup. "He once took me home a year later than he said he would. My mum slapped him so hard!"

Dr. Song laughed. "No more than he undoubtedly deserved. Oh Doctor."

Rose watched her, reading the fondness written in every line of her face. More than fondness. "You've known him your whole life, then. If your parents traveled with him."

River smiled. "More or less. It's a long story, and one I'd be happy to tell you someday. But for now, let's just say I didn't really meet him until I was older."

"And . . ." Rose hesitated. She had no right to hope for anything from the Doctor, really, and she'd told herself she didn't. She'd wanted only for him to give her a lift someplace habitable, that was all. "The two of you," she said at last.

"Ah," Dr. Song said. "Yes. We're married."

Rose choked on her tea. "You're _what_?"

"Several times over, actually. Though not all of them were under voluntary circumstances and the first one never really happened at all."

Rose shook her head. "I'm sorry, I just never - the Doctor was never the marrying kind."

"Oh, he's the marrying kind all right," Dr. Song said with a smile, "but he's not really the marriage kind. A war-time wedding he can handle, but taking out the trash and remembering to buy milk and Sunday afternoons in front of the telly . . . it's all bit beyond him." Dr. Song shrugged, looking, to Rose's eye, a little wistful. "I live here, most of the time, and he travels, most of the time. It works for us."

"I see," Rose said, rather shakily.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Song said, "I didn't mean to shock you."

"It's all right. After six hundred years, it's nice to know I can still be shocked."

"You should know, though," Dr. Song said. "We're married but we're not exclusive. I mean, I think he is, most of the time, but we're not."

"Oh," Rose said, and to her horror she felt herself blush, "no, it's been a long time. I can’t imagine he’d still be interested, if he ever was."

Dr. Song raised her eyebrows. "Well, I wouldn't be so certain, if I were you. He is different, I'll give you that. He wears a bowtie now."

Rose raised her eyebrows. "A bowtie?"

"Mmm. He thinks they're cool. But he's still the same Doctor. And let me tell you, Rose Tyler," she added, leaning forward, "even now, after all this time, you're still the one he talks about."

"I am?" Rose said. "Really?"

Dr. Song nodded. "But don't take my word for it," she added, as a sound Rose hadn't heard in the better part of six lifetimes filled the kitchen. Rose turned and caught a glimpse of bright, brilliant blue out the window. She was on her feet in an instant, her heart beating wildly in her chest. "Ask him yourself," Dr. Song finished, calmly sipping her tea.

"And you don't," Rose said, barely able to speak, "you wouldn't _care_?"

"Of course I would care," Dr. Song said. "But not how you think. Now go to him, Rose. I'll wait here."

"Thank you," Rose said, eyes riveted to the TARDIS. A man in a tweed jacket and a bowtie - God, he really was wearing a bowtie - had emerged. He licked his finger and held it up, as though testing the direction of the wind, then frowned and licked it again. "Thank you, Dr. Song."

"Call me River," she said. " _Go_."

Rose went.

 _Fin._


End file.
